Dirty flower
by Madame-de-Stael
Summary: "It's for a dead person, he let fall abruptly." She didn't even flinched. "I'm sorry." But she really looked as if she was sorry for him."There's no need to be sorry. She was a prostitute."


**Hello!**

A little fanfiction about Ginjo and Orihime. Please, note that it is an A.U., I tried to respect the personnalities of all the characters I borrowed to the manga.

Incidentally, I'm not a native English speaker, please forgive my grammatical errors, I'm trying to improve myself by writing.

That, and because I enjoy it, of course.

I wrote that story in order to relax during the exams, you'll decide if it'll be an OS., or if I can pursue my scenario...further.

Have fun :)

* * *

**_Les inconnues ne partent pas : elles disparaissent_**

Yann Moix

* * *

**Day 1 : Mourning**

It was raining outside when Kūgo Ginjō get out of the tall and impressive building in which he lived. Cursing about "stupid me who forgets his umbrella in the great amphitheater", he tried to reach quickly his car so that he would not be wet. The motor of his expensive car literally roared when he started it. In a blink of an eye, he had left the street. Not that driving fast would help him, anyway, since he did not knew where he was going. Well… he knew_ what_ he was looking for, but not _where_ he should look for it.

After several minutes of unsuccessful exploration, he resolved himself to quit the familiar residential area for less shining- and attractive, in his opinion- shops. He hated to frequent the parts of Karakura Town in which what we could call "normal people" lived. The sight of average, common people bothered him. It was bringing memories back, memories of when his life was quiet and easy. He would always leave those quarters whit more than a hint of bitterness in his mouth. But, well…he was not here to bring up the past. He was looking for a florist, or whatever other funeral director in which he could find flowers for _her_ grave.

A sign-board at the corner of the street caught his attention. "_Unohana",_ the kanjis indicated. Wondering if it was the owner's name or a pun, he parked the Porsche athwart the pavement, all but worrying for the pedestrians' safety. He penetrated the shop. The décor was sober: different shades of off-white, which made the flowers exposed on the stalls stand out extraordinarily. Even he –who liked to call himself a "rational mind" – was stunned for a moment, by the beauty of the compositions and the delicates perfumes those hundreds of different plants could marry so easily.

-Good afternoon, Sir. May I help you?

A maiden appeared from nowhere. At his own and great surprise, he found himself wondering if she was not_ also_ a flower. Creamy skin, velvety auburn hair, melting honey-brown eyes. She seemed as sweet and soothing than the Orchid that was fixed at the end of her braid, maintaining her hairstyle. She was simply dressed, in a white kimono embroidered on her chest of the boutique's emblem:** 花,** the kanji for "Hana". He must have been staring at her more than necessary, because she was now looking at him with a gleam of worry in her eyes. Getting back to reality, he calmly announced:

-I need flowers.

-We _might_ have what you're looking for, she answered, and it seemed to him that she was retaining from laughing. What kind of composition would you like?

What _kind_? Were not the flowers all the same?

-Well you know…just…flowers.

-I see…is it the first time you do such a purchase?

-Yeah, sort of. I bought a bonsai for a friend's birthday, once.

-Mmh…It's not exactly the same thing. _Ikebana_ is not something like pleasant gardening. It is considered an art, you know.

-Look, I don't care about the art crap, he said, becoming suddenly impatient. I just want flowers, and trust me, what I intend to do with them do not necessitate any complication. Just give me a _damned bouquet_; I don't care of what, and of whatever-you-want prize.

He gave her a strong look. How surprise was he when he noticed that hers was at least as hard as his own. _Hell_, what's wrong with that girl?

-I'm sorry, Sir, she said, still polite but with ice in her ton. If you _just_ want flowers, then I can't help you.

-Really, and why is that?

He was becoming angrier by the minute.

-Because, she pursued, each plant here is a unique masterpiece, with a history, and a signification. Each of them means something. That's why I can't let you buy them without a reason. They are more than just flowers. They are messengers, with the mission to carry the feelings of the person who offers them. It is what flower arrangement is all about. Letting you buy them cold-heartly would mean that we failed to our job, and I can't let this happen.

-It is for a dead person, he let fall abruptly.

She didn't even flinched.

-I'm sorry.

But she really looked as if she was sorry for him.

-There's no need to be sorry. She was a prostitute.

Something passed in her eyes, a really strange emotion that he did not recognized. Her faced softened, and she repeated:

-I'm sorry.

She took an inspiration.

-But I still can't let you have our flowers, if you just intend to throw them on a grave as you would do with grass.

-Where's the difference between the two?

-If you're asking me, why don't you go look for grass instead?

-It is not something you can do, especially for that kind of _occasion_.

-I could give you golden roses, but with your state of mind it would be the same than giving you dry leaves.

-Are you saying that you definitely won't let me buy one of those?

-Not like this. If you want regular flowers, there is another boutique, two streets further. I can give you the address, if you want.

-_No_. I want one of these ones.

That was the only thing he was sure about. He didn't even knew why, but damned, he wanted _those_ flowers, and no one else's.

-Then you need a good reason.

He sighed, and passed a hand on his face, plunging it in its black hairs. God, she was a stubborn one, wasn't she?

-Fine, you won. But I don't know anything about the whole message thing.

-I can help you for this. Why are you looking for flowers?

He just has told her. Was she stupid?

-Because it is something you usually do when you go to the cemetery.

He couldn't hide the irony in his tone.

-Don't you want to say something to you friend?

-Something to say…to a slut…

Two big, pink-colored eyes appeared to him in a flash.

-Tell me about her.

-She was really annoying.

-But you liked her.

-I guess…In a way. We shared a strange bond, you know.

-How was she?

-Vivid, he answered without hesitate. And annoying. And teasing. And always complaining and screaming for nothing. And annoying. Very capricious, also. She liked donuts. And cute things. She really was an annoying girl.

-Seems a lovely girl to me.

-She was a _prostitute_, he repeated.

-Still a lovely girl.

He gave her a sharp look.

-What was her name?

Her name, uh? She wanted to know her name? _Which one_, he almost answered. She had plenty of those ridiculous appendices that people call names. And she especially liked to change, depending on her mood and her company… She used to say that she liked cute things, so all of her pseudonyms had to be so. She called herself "Rose" when she was too lazy to imagine something. When she wanted to be particularly prompt in her job, she would present herself as "Love Gun", which meant that she was not going to let you with neither health body nor money. "Sakura", when she was in a romantic mood. Or more simply, "Rika", which was an incomplete anagram of her name. Her_ real_ name.

-Riruka. Dokugamine, Riruka.

-That's really a sweet and girlish name.

-What would you recommend?

-I can't speak for you. I'm sure you have something to say to her, but you don't know it yet.

-Everything I had to say, I told her when she was alive.

-Really?

-Really, he said with a hint of challenge in the voice.

-Then what about something express your love?

-My_ love_? For Riruka?

He laughed. For real.

-In a friendly way, if you want. That would be your manner to say "farewell, your were important to me".

-Yes…yes, I guess that would work. A goodbye. Turning the page. Closing the book…

He stood, thoughful for a moment, as reminiscences were coming.

-Are you sad?

-No, he snapped.

-You are sad.

Why was she determined to contravene to everything he had to say?

-Don't act as if you knew better than me. You know nothing.

-I know that. But I also know that you're sad.

_Actually, sad-istic would be the word_, he thought.

-You do not seem really happy either.

-It is none of your concern.

-Why is my so-called sadness a matter of yours, and yours not a matter of mine?

-Because you're the client here.

_Client._

That word made him sick. It made him think of Riruka. Of her job.

_Their job._

-Sir?

-I would like to thank her, in fact, I think.

-Thank her?

-Yes. No need to say how ridiculous it is to thank a dead body, I realize it as I'm speaking.

-You're not ridiculous. Art to thank a dear friend who passed away, it's a very sweet attention.

-There's nothing like _sweet _in life, Sugar-flower.

-I know, and don't call me like that.

-Sugar-flower.

-Do you know what kinds of color she would prefer?

-Something that a girl like her would like.

-You very are not a precise man.

-She loved cute things. Her hairs and eye were pink. She always said that she would like to die overwhelmed by cute things, so that she could keep them with her forever and for her alone. Did I mention that she was as stupid as she was selfish?

-No. But thanks to your description, now I clearly know what kind of arrangement would please her. Would you mind take a seat and wait me here for a moment?

-Why can't I just take one of those baskets of flowers and leave now that you've had what you wanted?

-Because you would be the one who didn't had what he wanted. There would be no interest for me.

-You're not a business-woman. No business sense.

-Indeed. Please, wait here, I'll send Isane look after you.

She leaved. He followed the gracious balancing of her braid while she was heading toward a door at the room's other side. She was a strange girl. Most of the right-thinking Japanese citizens would have chills of disgusts by the idea itself. Choosing flowers for a prostitute. Helping that very same prostitute's colleague to ornament her tumb. Something was not clear in this affair. She was taking it too serenely to be honest…

He let the ridiculously-in his mind- tall silver-haired girl conduct him to a private area to serve him a hot tea. He had asked for a whisky, but _"we don't serve alcohol beverages, Sir". _Even the waiting room was decorated with flowers. He grunted, becoming more and more allergic to this sight by the second. Damned Riruka, and her tomb, and her mania for cute things.

Blood splashed, somewhere in his head, in a place where he tried to keep close these memories.

-Mister? Are you okay?

He raised the head. He didn't knew he was holding it in its hands.

-Perfectly fine, he muttered.

-Then, please, follow me. Miss Inoue just finished your order.

She bowed, and invited him in a gesture to follow.

_Inoue_, huh?

It sounded familiar. Where did he had heard that, already?

Mh, an idol name, probably.

* * *

He had to admit that there was something…ndeed _Artistic_, in her work. He couldn't name all the plants she had used, but it was strangely cute _and _appropriate for a grave. The impossible combo, yet…

She had arranged the plants so it formed the shape of a bear, a Teddy Bear, he noticed. His fur was composed of flowers of dark tons of violet, in which where intertwined something he identified as colored crystals. The truffle was made of very little flowers tightly assembled, which formed a little hearth. The eyes were what was the more catch full, composed of two big black roses, that absorbed all the rest. He didn't knew why, but he almost had the impression that the bear was crying. There was undoubtedly something as cute as sad. He also noticed that it really was realistic; almost forgetting that it was only composed of…of what?

-What are all those plants?

-The basis is made of branches of yew, torsated in order to give the bear its stature. Then, on it I just had to agreement with dark violet hydrangea, and hibiscus. The nose is composed of little sakura flowers. And, the eyes are made with black roses.

-Why so much varieties?

-Hydrangea and hibiscus were particularly appropriated, according to the description you gave me. The first symbolizes the grace, the beauty, as well as the exuberance, while the second would show that there is still a part of fragility in the person, known only by her friends. Sakura flowers are a classic, it is a reference to the fragility of the life, but it also gives hope: like sakura flowers, souls will ressurect, each time they die, in another place, in another body. Black roses are for the end of an era, and the loss of a dear person.

He stood, looking at the bear for a moment. Concerned passed on her face.

-Does it not please you? I also wondered if it wasn't too much "lively" for a cimetery, so if you don't like…

-No.

His voice sounded deep, male. He plunged his icy blue eyes in hers.

-It's perfect. I want it.

He took out of his pocket a black credit card.

* * *

When he went out, it had stopped raining. He looked at its expensive watch. Five p.m. Almost time go to work.

He carefully installed the flower-bear –envelopped and protected- on the back seat of his car, and left. On his way he realized that he did not thanked the girl.

But that was of no importance. He would see her again.

He will.

He had to.

* * *

Riruka's tumb really was miserable. In fact it was not even a real tumb. Just a little square of stones, gravel, sand, forgotten in a corner of the cemetery, the saddest corner it seemed. He couldn't but notice the contrast between the comfort her lucrative activities gave her in life, with the poverty she had in death. The thought almost made him shiver.

She was always busy, now she would have eternity to rest. She was always surrounded with friends, clients, admirers, disciples looking for a strong female mentor. Now she was alone, and forgotten in the shadows, with nothing but a funeral plate to remember that had one day been more than a simple protuberance on the relief. Always noisy. Now she would be quiet forever.

He precociously put the Teddy-Flower-Bear on her grave. Stone. Grey stone. Not even an expensive one, with that _"cute rose marble of Italy!"_.

He lit incenses sticks.

Then he just stood for awhile in front of her freshly dead bones, reminding. When he had enough, he quitted the cemetery. He didn't knew why, but he started to think to the flower-braided girl.

A call on his cell phone chased the thought away almost immediately. He looked at the screen. A client. And, if he remembered well, a very rich one. He grimaced. The richer, the older.

Coming back toward his leather-inside, he answered, taking the male-seductive voice he only employed when he was working.

When the conversation was over, he hanged-up. Almost instantaneously, the phone began to ring. A new proposition, he guessed. It would be a busy night. He sighed, resigned, and picked up.

-Xcution Agency, Scaffold for you.

And the rain started again.

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**Voilà!**

**I hope it wasn't too long, and too boring...I you liked, please leave me a review, I'm a neophyte here and I really need your opinions, bad or goods. I always answer.**

**Thank you very much, see you...?**


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